


Unspoken

by bisexualjesse



Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: Exhibitionism, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:20:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23220844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualjesse/pseuds/bisexualjesse
Summary: Lalo shows up to his house unprompted more often than not, these days.
Relationships: Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca/Ignacio "Nacho" Varga
Comments: 20
Kudos: 72





	Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> Done for a prompt I got on tumblr (@ignaciovarga) for Lalo/Nacho + voyeurism. Let me know your thoughts!!

Lalo shows up to his house unprompted more often than not, these days; just strolls in like he owns the place, like he and Nacho have been best friends for years. The first time Nacho had arrived home to find him on the couch along with the girls, watching some romcom on the TV, he’d been scared. But it hadn’t taken long for him to realize that those unprompted visits weren’t meant to be threatening or to scare him; instead, maybe, they’re Lalo’s way of keeping control over him.

Some days, Lalo would give the door a courtesy knock. Others, he just walks in with a paper clip or a bobby pin. It’s not like a locked door has ever stopped a Salamanca.

But Lalo isn’t just any Salamanca. Tuco would’ve kicked down his door. No, Lalo walks in silent and unnoticed until he _wants_ to be noticed, his feet barely making any noise on the hardwood floors, like a cat’s.

He only has himself to blame when he walks in on Nacho spread out on the couch, legs spread to accommodate the dark-haired girl on her knees in front of him.

Nacho’s not sure how long Lalo’s been there when he finally notices him, standing by the doorway and watching. Maybe it’s the alcohol running through Nacho’s veins, or the pleasure building between his legs, or the look on Lalo’s eyes as he just stands there, but when Jo starts to pull off at the way Nacho’s body tenses with surprise, he stills her with a hand on the back of her head.

“Don’t stop,” he breathes, eyes not leaving Lalo’s for a second. “Feels so good.”

He groans as Jo swirls her tongue around the head of his cock, catching the bead of pre-come there. He slides further down the couch, bracing his feet on the floor so he can roll his hips lazily up into the wet heat of her mouth. Lalo’s eyes flicker down to Jo’s head just for a second before they’re burning back into Nacho’s. He’s apparently unbothered, weren’t it for the way his breath hitches in his chest ever so slightly, his gaze dark with desire and _something else_ that twists at Nacho’s insides.

He makes sure to arch his back, to give Lalo something to stare at. Nacho’s jeans are pushed down to his ankles, his bare chest heaving with the strength of his breaths, fingers gripping the couch cushions like they could sink into it. Lalo’s attention feels like a spotlight burning all over his body, dragging from his eyes, down to the muscles of his chest, to his nipples, to his dick that disappears into Jo’s mouth for a moment and Nacho curses under his breath. She pulls back with a gasp soon, her hand working to stroke him where her lips can’t reach; grip firm, twist at the base, perfect.

Jo spreads his legs even wider, as if putting up a show for the audience, and Nacho feels a slick finger sliding behind his balls and right up against his rim. Jo rubs at the sensitive skin in small circles and Nacho shuts his eyes, a broken moan slipping past his lips.

Lalo moves before Nacho is even aware of it. The couch sinks on his right and there he is, the heat of his body up against Nacho’s side sending fire into his already burning skin.

“Do it,” he whispers. The command is meant for Jo, but he’s looking right at Nacho.

Two fingers slide into Nacho, more than he was expecting, and he can’t stop the straight-up whimper that comes out of his mouth. He opens his eyes as much as he can and his head lulls over, lips red from biting down on them and he meets Lalo’s eyes dead on. Lalo’s head slides up the back of his head, fingers stroking the nape of his neck as if he wishes Nacho had any hair to pull.

“Oh fuck, fuck. Please.” He pushes up into Jo’s mouth, back against her fingers like he’s desperate for them. He leans back into Lalo, close enough that they’re breathing the same air through parted lips. Nacho can feel the ghost of Lalo’s lips on his — not quite a kiss, but almost, enough to send a shiver right down his spine.

Jo brushes against something inside of him that make him see stars, and he breaks eye contact with Lalo so he can let his head fall over the man’s chest, tucking into the crook of his neck. Her fingers are deep enough that he can feel the bump of her knuckles, crooked just enough to have Nacho lifting his hips off the cushions with every thrust. He breathes into Lalo’s neck, praise and profanity and unintelligible sounds falling from his lips.

The grip on the back of Nacho’s neck tightens and he pulls Nacho away from his neck, tilting his head upwards so he can look back into his eyes. And, just like that, Nacho’s gone as soon as those dark eyes lock on his.

“ _Mierda_.” He explodes into Jo’s mouth with a strangled sob, hips stuttering in their movement as his thighs begin to tremble, then slamming back into her magical fingers. Jo swallows around him, unable to keep all of his release in her mouth but she tries, breathing a moan of her own.

It feels like hours pass with Nacho just sitting there, back arched and legs shaking, before he finally leans back into Lalo’s body. He’s panting hard, body still trembling with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

He watches as Lalo brings Jo up by a gentle hand on her arm, her lips red and swollen. Some of Nacho’s come dribbles out of her lips down to her chin. There’s nothing gentle about the hungry way Lalo pulls her forward and licks it into his mouth, sucking at the come on the corner of her lip before he kisses her like feeding, like he’s searching for Nacho’s taste inside her mouth.

Lips press against Nacho’s as well — maybe Lalo’s, maybe Jo’s, maybe the both of them at once. He lazily kisses back, and the taste of himself is the last thing he feels before he’s out, eyes slipping closed and head falling back into Lalo’s shoulder as he drifts off.


End file.
